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“What are they teaching them in schools these days?”

May 11, 2008

Isn’t that what you hear constantly on the radio and TV whilst poor results are moaned about?

Well this weekend I had the following 2 conversations with Belle which simultaneously terrified and impressed me (and made me wonder what on earth I’m going to do when she gets to GCSE’s…)

Saturday, driving in the car listening to radio 4.

Belle: I thought they mentioned Arcimboldo on the radio.

Me: Who?

Belle: Arcimboldo.

Me: Who?

Belle: Arcimboldo. You know mummy. The Italian artist from history who painted faces using fruit and vegetables.

Me: Nope. Never heard of him.

Sunday evening whilst dressing Ned in his Thomas pyjamas.

Belle: Hold on a sec mummy. Let me see. [pause] Oh, it’s OK, I thought he had an acrostic on his back.

Me: A what?

Belle: You know. An acrostic poem.

Me: Oh. Yes. I’m pretty sure I know what one of those is.

Belle: It’s a poem where the subject is written down the side of the page and then you use each letter of the subject to start a line of the poem.

Me: Yes. I did know. I’m fairly positive I wouldn’t have known at 5 though.

Belle: Oh we’ve been learning about them for weeks. We’re going to be allowed to write our own this week…

 

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Ouch

May 7, 2008

On Saturday we had a church fete. Hubby spent the morning lugging sound equipment and bouncy castles and tables and chairs around whilst I spent the afternoon sitting on a child’s chair (very uncomfortable) facepainting. There were 4 of us painting faces and we reckon we did 150 between us in the space of about 2 and 1/4 hours. During the morning whilst hubby was out the children were playing in the garden and I was doing jobs around the house. They came running in a one point to tell me that a plant pot had been broken in the garden “but it was an accident mummy”. I said it was fine and went outside to make sure the pieces weren’t where they could slit their bare feet open. When I saw the shards of the pottery I had one of those “hmmm” moments - the huge pot had been smashed to bits and didn’t look as though it had simply been knocked over.

“How did it happen?” I asked. Ned reminded me it had all been an accident. Belle picked up the wooden spade with a metal scoopy end. “Ned was doing this” she said, turning away from me and waving the heavy spade in the air.

And then tossing the spade over her head so that it flew towards me and hit me on the forehead.

I screamed and clutched my head and shouted at Belle who started crying “That’s not kind to say I was stupid mummy when I was only showing you what he did” and then I apologised and then I looked at the blood on my hand and started raving again about how they could have had my (or each other’s) eye out and then I ran inside to check whether I was going to be scarred for life (the cut was right in the hairline so the answer is no) and then I sat Ned down and reminded him about throwing things and then I pointed out to Belle the follies of showing me silly behaviour rather than just telling me and then I sat down and thanked heaven that my kids don’t do idiotic things like this very often. 

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How was it for you?

May 5, 2008

I picked Belle up from school on Friday to discover yet another cut elbow and another over-the-top dressing applied by the school nurse. I asked what had happened.

“Well, B bumped into me and knocked me over and I landed on my elbow. He said sorry but he didn’t take me to Mrs Nurse’s room. M took me there because, well, [coy look and faint blush] he’s my boyfriend”.

Initially I stood, opening and closing my mouth like a stunned and inarticulate goldfish; then I coughed “Oh really?” and agreed that yes I would ask M’s mummy if M could come and have tea one day and walked horrified back to the car, stressing about 5 year olds and boyfriends and growing up too soon…. And then I started to relax. OK, I wasn’t five when I considered myself to have my first boyfriend, but I was only eight. For the best part of a year Mark Symes (do you reckon he can google himself and find this?) was the person I preferred to play with each playtime; he gave me a gobstopper and told me it was in lieu of an engagement ring. He kissed me - on the ear but still my first kiss - and was sweet and kind (and several inches shorter than me). For the 2 years (and 4 sets of exams) we were at junior school together we alternated places  - I cam 1st in the year twice and 2nd twice, he came 2nd when I was 1st and 1st when I was 2nd. The first time he beat me he came and found me and told me that he was sure I was cleverer than him and I wasn’t to worry; I don’t think I was as magnanimous in victory and I probably crowed when I beat him the next time….

If M is Belle’s Mark then I don’t think I’ve got too much to worry about. How about you? Who was your first boyfriend? (Or girlfriend)

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Grammatically correct

May 5, 2008

The trouble with a just-5 -year-old who can read as well as Belle is that she can read some of my books now - especially my trashy novels and no-longer-so-secret loves like (shhh) Dick Francis. I never before realised quite what short words he uses.. Belle sat on the arm of my chair, reading over my shoulder.

” ‘And then I watched her ride off across the Downs’. I don’t think you should really start a sentence with ‘and’ “.

” ‘When will it be?’ ‘Soon as I can’. I think it would sound better if they’d wriiten ‘as soon as I can’ really”.

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Theology chez nous

May 4, 2008

Belle: So…. if Jesus made everything and Jesus, when he was a baby, came out of Mary’s tummy then how did he make Mary? And if he has been there for ever and ever and ever where did he live before he made the sky?

Ned: If you’re naughty Jesus can still live in your tummy can’t he? [slight bewilderment but I'm fairly sure he just gets confused between notions of Jesus being "in" people's hearts which is, after all, a rather bizarre concept] But I do know some people where Jesus can’t live in their tummies. Not robbers. Mummies with babies in their tummies. They can’t have Jesus in there too, there wouldn’t be room.

Who needs theologians? (Actually one might be rather useful come to think of it).

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Privilege

May 1, 2008

I have been inspired by the lovely Belgian Waffle to muse over my privileged (or otherwise) background. She was inspired by various other people who are mentioned at the end of this post. Basically the idea is that you highlight in bold all the true statements….

 

1. Father went to college.

My father didn’t even finish secondary school. At about 11 his father was diagnosed with cancer. At roughly the same time (though it’s not much talked about) his mother was admitted to a psychiatric institution where she remained for about 2 or 3 years before they discovered that all her symptoms of madness were actually due to a brain tumour which they then removed leaving her relatively normal though with horrific epileptic fits. My father was apparently advised to appeal against his failing the 11 plus  - on compassionate grounds - but his family had other things to think about at the time (like where my father would live; he ended up with his already-married sister in the council house opposite the one where he’d been born) and didn’t bother. His father died when he was in his mid-teens and he left school shortly afterwards and got a job as an errand boy in the waterboard. He’s the classic story of boy-made-good. My mother forced him suggested he go to adult education college where he obtained 3 CSE’s - Maths, English and Technical Drawing  - and he then rose through the ranks and has been director or managing director of several engineering companies, headhunted from one to the other. I’m terribly proud of him - if that doesn’t sound patronising.

2.Father finished college.

3.Mother went to college.

My mother would, I think, have liked to do a degree. Her parents felt that educating a girl for anything other than teaching or nursing was a wate of time so she went to teacher training college and became a primary school teacher. In those days that wasn’t a degree course, simply a certificate. She was a very good teacher - though I rather think she would have relished the opportunity for wider horizons and more choices.

4.Mother finished college.

This isn’t America. Giving up college halfway through would have been anathema to my mother.

5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor.

My aunt by marriage is a GP. None of my blood relations had ever been to university before me. My 3 maternal uncles all left school at 18, my mother went to college to do her teaching certificate, my maternal aunt had the equivalent of an HND. My 2 paternal aunts that I know (the 3rd was adopted when her parents became ill) gained no education beyond the very barest minimum. I was the first of the family to go to university but both my siblings followed as did most of my 14 cousins.

6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.

Who defines class? By the time I hit high school my parents were definitely middle class. As, I guess, were most of my teachers.

7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.

8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home

I’m guessing somewhere around 500. It’s hard to really envisage numbers. Given that I reckon we have about 1000 then I think as kids we probably had around 500, most of which were ours rather than my parents.

9. Were read children’s books by a parent.

Definitely. All the time.

10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18.

11.Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18.

I had about a term of ballet but, depsite what my mother now says, I don’t think she really wanted us to do ballet and drama and things. I learned the piano from age 9 and the flute from 11.

12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively.

Yes I guess so.

13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18.

No way. My parents would never have trusted me with one and they would have been absolutely justified in not doing so. I got my first credit card when I was about 24, already married for a couple of years, and I was utterly terrified of the whole concept.

14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs

My parents paid the whole of my first 4 years. This was less of a big thing then than it would be now. Wealthy (or relatively wealthy) parents were expected to cover the equivalent of a student grant and my parents did so. Fees were automatically paid by the state in those days. Even so I spent my first term’s grant in a month and my father came to the rescue; from then on I was paid monthly.

15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs

As soon as I got married, at the end of my 4th year with another 2 years to go, my parents stopped paying a penny. I actually respect them for that - though it meant fairly considerable financial hardship for 2 years. But I earnt about money and budgeting and real life and I’d like to think I’ll be able to teach my kids the same  - perhaps without cutting them off quite so abruptly.

16. Went to a private high school

I grew up in a privileged county where we had high schools. I know that this isn’t necessarily a popular view but I passionately support selective education. I don’t believe I’d be where I am now without it. (Of course, there are lots of reasons to wish I wasn’t a GP right now but that’s neither here nor there….). I live in a part of the country now where we also have grammar/high schools. Without them - or if my children don’t get in - I would absolutely consider sending them privately, even if I have to work every evening and night (assuming of course, I’m not doing that as just part of my every-day job by then). But I’d rather the state grammar schools simply because I do think there’s more of a cross-section of society there.

17. Went to summer camp

No. Thank heaven.

18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18

I had a year or two of private physics coaching in the 6th form. I’m not sure it did any good.

19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels

Yes. Is this a privilege? We spent our childhood holidays in hotels patronised almost exclusively by the elderly where we charmed them with our ability to knit (oh yes) and be painfully polite.

20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18.

Yes. I was the oldest sister and the oldest cousin. Ebay didn’t exist - not that my mother would have used it anyway - and charity shops were for displaying largesse rather than receiving it. My poor deprived children will not be able to say the same. (I went to a meeting at the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead last week and returned with 2 Mini Boden items for Belle, a stunning H and M jacket for me, a pair of Diesel jeans for me and 2 designer tops for me for a mere £28. Hampstead charity shops rock). Actually though, the vast majority of my clothes were sewn or knitted for me by my mother or grandmother. Does that count?

21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them

As if. My first car was bought a year or so after we got married for £350. We sold it when it failed its MOT and bought another for £180.

22. There was original art in your house when you were a child.

No way. In fact no art at all. Maybe that’s why we’re so ridiculously excited by our recent art purchases in A Real Art Gallery. As opposed to Ikea posters.

23. You and your family lived in a single-family house.

24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home

My parents never rented. They bought their first house when they got married in 1967. It was obviously a good time to buy as now they own a 6 bedroom, 4 bathroom house in one of the more expensive parts of England.

25. You had your own room as a child

I had my own room from about 14 when my father built an extra room on our house. Before that I shared with my sister.

26. You had a phone in your room before you turned 18

Uh. No.

27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course

Not even sure what that is.

28. Had your own TV in your room in high school.

No. My parents didn’t get a TV till years after I left home. My first living-with-a-TV experience was in my 2nd year at Uni when I rented a flat with friends. It wasn’t a financial thing though - my parents just disapproved of TV in general. They have one now but never watch it. We have a TV in our room now though we rarely use it except on weekend mornings when the children crawl into our bed. They will never have one in their rooms in my house. Over my dead body. Etc.

29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college.

???!

30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16.

We flew to Jersey from somewhere like Bournemouth when I was 14. It was utterly exciting. The next flight I took was when we suddenly decided to fly to Australia to visit my aunt and uncle when I was 17 - via Singapore and home via LA. Having never experienced any overseas travel at all it was rather bizarre.

31. Went on a cruise with your family.

Again - ????!

32. Went on more than one cruise with your family.

Well, no.

33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up.

They took us to museums. Not loads but they did. Mostly we went with school. My mother was terrified of the tube for some reason but we did come up to London every now and then. I don’t remember going to an art gallery before I came to London to go to University whereupon I discovered the Tate (which I loved) and the National (which I loathed).

34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family

Hmm. I’m still kind of unaware. Is that bad? Seriously - money was never ever discussed as I was growing up. My mother still doesn’t know what my father earns. He doesn’t siphon it away - she gets to spend it all  - but they don’t discuss it. Money is my dad’s responsibility. Somehow we’ve adopted the same model of hubby being the one responsible for the paying of the bills and keeping an eye on the accounts and shifting our utility providers around to get the best deals…. the difference being that I actually am informed of what’s going on and we do discuss it.

20/34. Semi-privileged I guess.

 

*The original authors of this exercise are Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, and Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University. If you participate, they ask that you PLEASE acknowledge their copyright.

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The best things in life

May 1, 2008

Life has been getting away from me again lately. No time to blog. No time to do much really. Nursery keeps closing for the odd morning with thoughtless strikes and inset days, work is manic, social life is going through a very buoyant phase… I’ll leave you with a photo instead of lots of blogging verbiage which right now I can’t manage….

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Polling day*

May 1, 2008

Ned: Daddy who are you going to boat for? Which colour person do you want to run in the schools and the roads? You can have blue or red or green or orange?

And I thought I’d explained it so well.

 

*Am I the ultimate floating voter if I still haven’t decided who I’m voting for? And probably still won’t have decided by the time we take our family walk to the polling station this evening? And probably wouldn’t have decided even if this were a general election and the result actually counted for something?

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Above and beyond the call of duty?

April 22, 2008

So… the story about the visit yesterday. I get a call to visit an old man who’s been ill all weekend with diarrhoea. He’s the one who rings for the visit. By the time I’ve seen my zillion patients and done the essential jobs and my other visit I arrive at his house at 2.05pm. I knock on the door and there’s no reply. I knock harder - same again. There’s a keybox* there - hung to the door handle by a padlock rather than fixed to the wall. I fish my mobile out of my bag thinking “Thank heaven for mobiles”. I call him. He answers but I can barely hear him; he sounds frail and ill. Mostly he’s reasonably healthy other than being old and schizophrenic. I ask him the number of the keybox. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I ask him to press his emergency button on the cord around his neck - he either is refusing or doesn’t understand. I ask him for his nephew’s number; he can’t remember it.

I head back to the surgery. I can’t decide what to do; calling the police to break down his door seems like a drastic option given that he is, for now at least, alive. I decide to look on the council website to see if the emergency alarm number is listed, hoping that it’s the council alarm he has and not some private one. By now it’s 2.25. I call the number on the website. And call. And call. After 15 minutes of the number being engaged (thank heaven for speaker phones and the ability to get on with paperwork whilst being blasted by the engaged signal) I call the council switchboard. They tell me the number I’m calling is not a real number and give me the right number. (I later discover that the emergency call office has moved offices and numbers and not updated their website. The website that promises 24 hour service on that number). I ring the right number and finally get to speak to a real person. She’s helpful and nice but of course can’t actually a) confirm that the patient belongs to them and b) let me in on my request. I ask them to call the next of kin and get their permission. 5 minutes later she calls back - the next of kin refused to talk to them because the guy is his cousin and they fell out 4 years ago and haven’t spoken since. The lady phoned the patient and he agreed that she could let me in. By now it’s 2.54. I start surgery at 3. I ask if they can be there in 5 minutes but they can’t get there till 3.15. I ask the staff to apologise to my waiting patients and I head off to the house.

At 3.15 a nice lady arrives with keys and lets me in. I examine the patient very very briefly and decide he needs admission; he’s dehydrated and dirty and cold and coughing and more delusional than usual. Of course he won’t go till someone has been organised to feed the dogs; the emergency call woman goes to find a friendly neighbour whilst I call the ambulance and the hospital. It turns out he’d been discharged on Saturday after a couple of days in our local hospital. It figures. The emergency woman comes back saying the neighbour needs the keys - her own keys were taken by an official to go in the keybox. She phones the carers; I phone the district nurses. We want to know who organised the keybox and what the number is. Both the carers and the nurses deny all knowledge of the box and say they have their own sets of keys. We swear. I call the nephew’s number - no reply. The emergency woman goes on a mission, ringing around all her management hierarchy to get permission to leave her keys with the neighbour. I persuade the patient that hospital will be the best place for him. He’s not convinced. Actually nor am I but I don’t have much option.

I’m still there when the ambulance arrives at 3.40. I hand him over to the crew and thank the emergency call woman for coming and helping just as she finally gets permission to hand over the keys and we can reassure the patient that the dogs will be fed. Horrid mangy things but he loves them. I head back to start my afternoon surgery with patients waiting, already 50 minutes behind…

*Small black plastic box containing the keys to the house - opened by a 4 digit code.

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Today

April 21, 2008

Number of patients seen in surgery: 39

Number of patients telephoned (at their request): 21

Number of other health care professionals spoken to: 4

Number of prescriptions signed: well over 100

Number of urgent admin issues dealt with (urgent prescriptions not on computer or certificates etc): 27

Number of cars blocking me into the carpark when I had to go on urgent visit: 1

Number of home visits: 2

Number of minutes spent on phone trying to get access to patient’s house: 39

Number of children kissed good night: 0

Number of evening plans ruined: 1

Number of patients I would still have to see if this was next week and we were implementing the extended hours guidelines: 7

Number of patients who would be getting a crap service from me if this was next week and we were implementing the extended hours guidelines: 7

Number of glasses of wine I’m about to go home and drink: 2